Chelsea Hotel
by Ferdinand with Flowers
Summary: It's sweet summer wine that entails her to live in a fairytale, somewhere to far for us to find. Strawberries, cherries, and Angel's kisses in spring, she's forgotten the taste and smell of the world that she's left behind. /post bad ending/
1. THE CHAPTER WITH NO NAME

**GAME OVER**

* * *

**OR: THE CHAPTER WITH NO NAME**

* * *

Her eyes open.

Somewhere there's the taste of Bad liquor and early morning sunshine just rotting in her mouth; a precarious dream she remembers having about the moon falling from the heavens and onto the dirty threshold of the place she called home.

Blink. Moan. Bad hangover.

Just on a dirty lice-infected bed. Covers half pulled up to her waist, exposed torso is pinpointing hard nipples straight to an overhead ceiling that was embellished with popcorn kisses.

Moan. Blink.

Cascading hair is flowing everywhere like red rivers along a dirty pillow. A pale arm reaches out for nothing, mind rolling with disconcerting pleasures, as the girl on the bed fishes for air.

Hand lands on an adjacent night stand, mind opens up with clarity as she finds two cherished loved ones she had not expected to bed with her; a box made of metal, and one made of cardboard.

Brings them closer to her face, and she recognizes them as a Zippo and a brand spanking new carton of Junes brand cigarettes. Picking herself up and leaning herself along the old wood of the bed's headboard, she peels the cellophane wrapping off the carton and tosses it aside to an abyss of carpet. Flipping the lid open, she then scans the content of the box for a random cigarette.

Locating one, she then takes it out of the carton to invert it so that the tobacco flacks were facing her. She then returns it back to its original position in the carton. It stands apart from its siblings, whose myriad filters all face The Girl.

Picking another one at random, she inserts the filter end of it to her mouth and, clicking the Zippo open, finally lights the tip. Taking in a few cancerous moments only to breathe them back out, she scans the room she was currently occupying as she closes the Zippo shut and places it, and the pack, back atop the nightstand.

Lone window with venetian blinds shining in the morning rays. It was an unkempt and simple room of modest size. Just a bed with two adjacent nightstands, a door leading outside and one leading to the bathroom. Against the wall, on the other side of the left nightstand, were a row of mahogany drawers. On this nightstand was a glass multicolored lamp and a cheap digital LED clock displaying the time; nine thirty in the morning.

The mahogany drawers had an elongated mirror implemented into them, of which The Girl can see herself. Blowing a puff of smoke, she draped the covers over herself so her reflection could cover up anything that was exposed. Afterwards, the reflection just puffed smoke and stared incredulously at her.

Looking over at the right nightstand, she noticed both a black rotary phone and a closet filled with clothes.

* * *

She puffs smoke before the phone began to ring.

At first she just stared at the phone as it rung, her reflection following suit. Picking up the receiving end and pressing it against her ear, she finally decided to answer the phone.

"Hello?" the person on the other end of the line answered. The owner of the voice sounded old and frail, and the Girl immediately got a mental picture of an old man in her head.

The Girl puffed smoke for a minute before parroting the person on the opposite side of the line.

The Man giggled softly.

"Early morning sunshine beautiful," more giggling while the girl ran a free hand through her red hair, "Do you know what place you are currently occupying?"

The Girl answered no.

"Do you know your true Nomenclature? "

No.

"Are your past recollections bickering you to remember?"

No.

"Ah, Ah, Ah," he sounds amused, like a jester on the verge of a punchline, "My assistant and I can currently help you. Do you want our assistance?"

Yes. Please.

He sounded amused when he answered, "Perfect. Here is my assistant. Now you'll understand that we'll want some sort of payment, if you will oblige."

What kind?

Again, evidently amused at the Girl's expense, he answered "Just a few errands here and there, no currency payments or exploitative endeavors on your behalf, just your mere presence performing whatever feats we expect of you. Now, here's my assistance, whom will provide you with further information."

A scratch on the other end of the line, skin brushing against the receiving end no doubt. A feminine voice answers "Hello, Miss."

Emotionless. That was the word The Girl would define the woman on the other end of the line. The Girl puffs smoke as she greets the new voice.

"Miss, we will be requiring you to perform some errands for us. Am I correct to assume that you have no idea of your true identity?"

The Girl wracks her brains. It was true, she had no idea of who she was. No history, just waking up in this room with a bad taste in her mouth and the dying embers of a nightmare she was already forgetting. She deduces that she should be freaking out over the fact that she had no memories, but currently she's as calm as iced tea.

The Girl answers the voice with a no.

"Very good. The first task we require of you is to go to the front lobby of this hotel and speak to the receptionist behind the main desk. You must leave your room by one o' clock. Do I make myself clear?"

Yes.

Her cigarette is slowly dying as ashes start to blanket the covers.

"Very well. Now, in the nightstand that this phone is currently sitting on is a drawer. Open it when this conversation is over to receive your first gift. In the mahogany drawers on your opposite side and also in the closet, there are clothes for you to wear. If you happen to get hungry, on the floor of the closet is a mini fridge. Take whatever will satiate your Hunger."

Thank You.

The cigarette is down to a bud.

"You are very welcome. Shall I repeat anything?"

No.

The Girl strangles the life of the bud on one of the nightstands. It stays on the painted black wood like a makeshift grave.

"Miss, as a summary of your errand, you are to meet the receptionist in the main lobby. Remember to reclaim your gift from the nightstand."

Thank you.

A click.

Hello?

Dead dial tone.

* * *

The Girl places the top part of the phone back on its black pedestal. She reclaims the Zippo and pack of cigarettes from the nightstand and pulls out another victim.

Click.

Lighting it up, she takes a few puffs. Breathes them back out.

Her head is empty, nightmare already dead. No questions about her past are in her mind, even though they should be buzzing around her head like misquotes attracted to a bug zapper.

The clock reads Nine Fifty.

Puff, Puff, of smoke, and the Girl suddenly realizes how hot the room is. She pulls the covers off of herself and throws them on the floor. Her reflection does the same. She stands on the bed with no shame.

Her body is.

Puff puff. Down to a bud again. Sitting back down, she Snubs the head of the cigarette against the surface of the nightstand so that there are two graves, then decides to open the drawer.

* * *

Wide eyes.

The drawer is empty save for a white index card that contrasts heavily with the brown wood of the drawer. It reads empty as She grabs it with the tips of her fingers, only to find that it bends too easily in her grip for it to be an index card. She turns it over.

Wide eyes.

It wasn't an index card, it was a sticker.

Wide eyes.

Almost a scream as she drops it to the floor.

Wide eyes.

She realizes that she's naked and her body is disgusting.

Wide eyes.

A flood of emotions rush back to her, unfamiliar attachments that taste like something she's experienced before.

Wide eyes.

She runs to the bathroom.

* * *

Gurgle. Gurgle. Moan Moan.

She Hears herself vomiting.

What, She doesn't know. She can't remember what she had last night.

* * *

The sticker on the floor reads:

**HELLO MY NAME IS:**  
_Mitsuru Kirijo_

* * *

Disclaimer  
and  
concrit greatly appreciated


	2. Boring Bricks

**HELLO MY NAME IS:**  
**Mitsuru Kirijo**

* * *

**1. Boring Bricks.**

* * *

Gurgle. Gurgle. Moan Moan.

Mitsuru Kirijo finds herself on the white tiles of the bathroom floor, holding herself steady against the porcelain throne.

She hears herself vomiting.

What, she doesn't know. She can't remember what she had last night.

But she throws up anyways; yellow and green chunks into a clear lake. Vomiting up vomit; more yellows and greens until it turns up red.

She stops, using a free hand to cover her mouth. There's a burning sensation along the back of her throat as she gags. Swipes away some residue clinging to her lips and gags some more when she brings her hand to eye level.

Free hand stained red,  
and  
then.

Black out. Did you hit your head?

Eyes close.

* * *

It's a dream again, He's in a crucifix pose (though she never was a good Christian girl).

* * *

Eyes open.

Groggy moan.

She finds herself on the floor of the bathroom, white tile lukewarm thanks to the heat. Head calmer than before, she slowly picks herself up and carries herself to the main quarters.

Stagger, stagger, until body collapses on the bed  
and  
then.

Stares at the ceiling. Embellished with popcorn kisses, her mind makes out shapes amongst the erratic patterns. A midget with a knife. A Knight with silver spurs. A woman riding a bull. Lovers tied up.

Closes her eyes and tries to remember anything from her past.

Just her name. She's from Japan. And.

And, that's it. That's all she can remember.

When she recollected her name a flood of familiar emotions rushed back to her, but like the dying embers of a dream, they faded away to ashes as soon as she had a chance to control herself.

Now she only has a name and a location of birth.

A sigh. She feels as if she does not have an identity. How can she, when she only clings to a name? There's no information attached to the name, no way to deduce who she really is.

She turns her head to the side to stare at the digital clock.

It reads eleven thirty.

She still has some time until her appointment. Taking the box of cigarettes and the Zippo away from one of the nightstands, she does the only thing she can do at the moment.

Click.

Mitsuru lights one up.

* * *

She decides to tidy herself up.

As soon as her cigarette finishes itself, she chose to inspect the bathroom whom had so graciously took in her classy behavior just mere moments before.

A simple white bathroom with your average toilet (whose current guest was a broth of human regurgitation) and a white curtain half concealing a bath that contained a metallic showerhead. The porcelain rim of a sink was sitting in between a mirrored medicine cabinet and was rested above a drawer that no doubt contained cleaning supplies. A towel rack carrying the eponymous item in a tacky peach color hung off precariously to the side of the sink's clan.

Walking towards the toilet, she investigated the throne's waters to find a broth of some unidentifiable color.

Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Mitsuru flushes the broth out of existence and closes the lid so that the world will not have to see anymore of the throne's injustice.

Next, she decided to check the medicine cabinet. Her reflection watched as Mitsuru tried to pry the medicine door open, only to find that the door would not move. Finding that it wouldn't budge, she then tried the drawer underneath the sink, only to discover that the drawer had a keyhole on one of the doors.

Sighing, she tried to open it. It was in vain. A flash of brilliance suddenly struck her; didn't the nightstand have a drawer? And weren't there two nightstands? She smiled to herself as she walked over to the main room.

Yes, the nightstand, whose top was currently occupied by the clock and the lamp, did indeed have a drawer, but it also had a lock.

As she made herself comfortable sitting in front of the nightstand, Mitsuru was disappointed to find that it wasn't a keyhole, but an electronic lock that needed a four digit combination to open.

She tried the year of her birth date, smiling as she punched in the numbers because she had the ability to remember what her actual birth date was.

Error, it blinked in green LED lights.

A frown. Alas, it was in vain.

She sighed, and tried to open it anyway. It would not give. Shrugging her shoulders in defeat, she picked herself off the carpeted floor and returned to the bathroom. Walking up to the medicine cabinet, she placed her finger along the edge of metal that connected the inside of the cabinet with the mirrored door. There it was, a groove where the key was supposed to go.

Her reflection bit its lips. Then rolled its eyes and looked over at the shower head.

* * *

The clock reads twelve.

* * *

She opened the door leading out of the room at twelve forty five and was immediately struck by intense sunshine. Sweating already her eyes quickly adjusted to the light, and from her position on the threshold of the door, she can see a rusted metal railing overlooking a vast expanse of desert landscape. Which was bizarre. Wasn't she in Japan? Did Japan have natural deserts?

She closed the door behind her, noting the shade that an awning above her provided. Shielding her eyes with her hand against the bright sunshine as she walked out of the shade and over to the railing, she supported her body against peeling white metal of the railing to get a better look. The dry yellows of the desert landscape stretched out for miles until it hit a wall of mountains; rocky, brown mountains that were totally unlike those Mitsuru knows of in Japan. In between where she currently was and the mountains was a long stretch of black highway that stretched out horizontally and, if she squinted her eyes just right, she can see the yellows of the center dividers.

Sighing because she had no idea geographically where she was, she decided to investigate her current location. She was on a platform with railing, so she immediately surmised that she was on the upper floors of a building. Letting the sun burn through her locks for one final time, she stepped back into the shade the awning provided her.

Turning to her left, she faced a pseudo hallway of sorts, a wall of doors stretched out for what seemed like forever before hitting a patch of blue sky. Each door, just like her own, had a rather large rectangular window with white venetian blinds to cover the contents of the room besides them. She must have counted ten, almost fifteen doors along the wall before losing count because of the disadvantage of her perspective.

Turning the opposite side, Mitsuru easily found the beginning of the hallway. Four doors, of which Mitsuru's was the fourth, lined a wall that lead all the way to a stair case, one that lead down and the other up.

Adjusting the white tank top she found in the drawer, she decided to move ahead downstairs. She stops in her tracks when she eyes a detail on her door. Tacked onto the door in black ceramic characters where the roman numerals for three. Just above it was an intricate masquerade mask of, what looked like, pink velvet coating its body and wings.

What Mitsuru found most odd most of all was the fact that her door had the numerals for three, and yet it was the fourth door in sequence.

Walking to her neighbor's door on her right, she saw that her neighbor's door had the numerals for six, and the one on her left had the number for eleven. They both also had intricate masques nailed over them.

Shrugging these details off as she made her way towards the staircase, she also noted as she walked to the staircase that the blinds to all three of her neighbor's windows were closed shut.

The stairwell leading to the top had a sign suspended by black velvet rope tied to the ends of the railings reading: "staff only," in beautiful cursive. Finding her ascension upstairs impeded upon, Mitsuru continued with her original plan to go downstairs.

* * *

She reaches the first floor, and is shocked by the contrast. The first floor was shielded from the sun by the second floor, and it consisted of an outside corridor with pillars supporting the first floor. The grays of concrete pavement stretched laterally in front of her for a short distant before hitting an empty driveway of black gravel.

The driveway was not what surprised Mitsuru. It was the fact that in contrast to the previous floor, this one only had four doors on the wall before the building actually finished at an angle. She was sure that on the previous floor, she could not even make out the end of the building, let alone any evidence that her peripheral vision allowed her to view the building ending at an angle.

And yet here it was, the building did most certainly end at the fourth room with a sharp angle.

Discerning the thought from her mind, she walked along the hallway taking note of the doors. The first one read staff, the next one read fourteen in the same numerals and a masque suspended over them and finally.

Stop. The third room had a window, just like the others, only the blinds on this one were actually open and allowed Mitsuru to see into it. Leaning against the window and shielding her eyes with her hands to get a better view, she peeked through the blinds. The room was empty and was the exact model of the one she found herself in. Bed with mundane headboard, nightstands with accompanying complimentary items. Same business. Only.

She took note that over the bed was a black cross. She had not noticed anything like that in her room. Maybe she'll find one? Shrugging, she turned towards the door. Same business as the rest, only the numerals on this one read zero.

She continued her trek and reached the last room. Just like the room before this one, the blinds were open, but Mitsuru did not have to peep through them for the door was wide open. Eyeing the adjacent door, which read one, she hesitatingly walked inside.

The room wasn't the largest, wasn't the smallest. It was a room of modest caliber and currently was a waiting room slash reception room. Chairs where against the both the right and left sides of the wall, and at both corners of the beginning of the room were desks heaped with old magazines and plotted pants that were supposed to cheer up anyone who looks at them.

In front of Mitsuru, just a few yards away, was a rather large desk of mahogany wood. On this desk sat a computer and various office supplies and.

And a man.

The man was currently sitting at the desk, eyeing the computer screen attentively and paying no attention whatsoever to Mitsuru. Finding herself at a loss for words at finding another living human being, she mustered up all the courage she could find before approaching the desk.

"Um…" her mouth was so dry, "Excuse me?"

This caught his attention. He looked away from the screen and locked eyes with Mitsuru.

A flash of remembrance from her part.

_Do I know you?_ Came across her mind.

A goofy grin.

_Where do I Know You?_

"Well hello there, my sweet young thing,"

Goofy grin.

She eyed the name tag on his uniform.

It reads:

Junpei Iori.

* * *

Disclaimer  
and  
concrit greatly appreciated


End file.
